


Sitting A Throne

by morethanjustpretty



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousins, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morethanjustpretty/pseuds/morethanjustpretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting on a throne is a thousand times more difficult than winning it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sitting A Throne

Sansa woke slowly, taking in her surroundings and the light high in the sky; she’d slept in significantly. Realizing she was in Jon’s room this time she looked to the pillow beside her. He was gone, of course. 

He’d only been there one morning since this all began, and it was so awkward that she felt he must have decided to dart from the room each time after they’d coupled and as soon as she fell asleep.

Sansa stretched in his bed and sighed heavily. It wasn’t getting easier. She had thought that after this many weeks he’d get more comfortable with what happened in the dark. She’d hoped at least.

He came to her, or she to him each night, attempting to make an heir for Winterfell and the North. It was always dark. There were no words exchanged; only grunts and moans and gasps. Even then, she thought he chastised himself for the slightest noise. As if silence took away some of his shame.

That was the difference between the two of them. She accepted her duty; to produce an heir no matter the cost or circumstances. She had wanted it to be pleasant but if it wasn’t, she still pushed forward. Jon, on the other hand was weighed down by his feelings and that was what made everything uncomfortable. 

She knew he thought he was betraying her family, betraying their father in particular. But she knew her family’s obligation to duty and, as much as they would have chosen differently if circumstances were possible, they would have been fine with the two of them bedding. It was the end goal that was important. 

It began months ago, the rumors and whispers about Jon ruling the North. Some felt his father’s Targaryen blood more present in his body then his Stark blood. Notherners always remembered, but they also selectively forgot. They remembered Jon’s skill in the war against the White Walkers, his stand against Cersai, his bringing his Aunt to their side...they remembered it all. They chose to forget that he was raised in the North, the son or Ned Stark (if not in blood then in family), the man who united all the Houses of the North again, the man who sacrificed everything for them.

Then Lord Glover made a bid to have Sansa married to one of his sons; it would seat his family securely in Winterfell and one step closer to the Northern Throne. Sansa would not have it. She had been used enough as a pawn in this game and that wasn’t going to happen again. She took matters into her own hands and allowed a few ideas to drop around the Court that she and Jon should be wed. No one could ever track the ideas back to her; but she needed to know if it was something everyone would agree to.

They had not. Several houses, who Sansa thought had aspirations for the throne themselves, vehemently argued against it. They never once brought up any relations that could come of the union and thus secure Winterfell and the North to the Stark House. Instead, they talked about the importance of House alliances through marriage for both Sansa and Jon, the fact that Sansa and Jon had grown up as siblings...several snide references to Targaryen incest were whispered in the corridors. Houses Sansa hoped would speak in favor of the union were quiet. She spoke candidly with several of them and, although they had no outward objections to the union, the other Houses distaste for it made them uneasy.

So, she’d approached Jon with a different sort of idea. He looked at her as if she was mad and spoke fiercely about never bringing a bastard into the world. She explained that the child wouldn’t be a bastard, that he would do the honorable thing and marry her; that they wouldn’t need to listen to the Lords of the North with a babe in her belly. He spoke about how she was his sister, regardless of bloodlines and actually suggested she have a doctor look at her for signs of fever. But she made her arguments and he slowly became less and less forceful in his rejection her suggestion. 

Then, she came to him one night after he had drank way too much strong wine. She was in her most thin nightgown and, as she stood before the man who had not bedded a woman in years, she knew he would relent. That night he did. It was the only night where she felt passion coming off his body. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he hadn’t bedded anyone in so long, or his drunken state, but it was the most amazing coupling she’d ever had. 

He woke next to her in the morning and ran to his second chambers to vomit. She told herself it was because of the drink; she suspected it was more than that. He said little to her and left that afternoon for the Eyrie on the premise of checking on supplies. He was gone for weeks and Sansa was sure he may stay away for good; that she’d truly broken everything and him in this scheme of hers.

Then he returned different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed but something had in his weeks spent away. He wasn’t somber or jovial, he was...relaxed. She wanted to wait a few days to speak with him about what had happened and apologize for everything; knowing he could never accept her plan.

Then he came into her rooms that first night home and without a word beyond her name, he took her to bed. It had been like that for weeks now, he coming to her, she going to him. Silence, seed, darkness, moans, gasps, and hasty exits. During the day nothing was different; he sought her advice, listened to her words, and she took care of him. They were the perfect cousins to all who knew them. No one seemed to suspect what happened at night and because no guards were placed in their wing of Winterfell, no one seemed any the wiser. 

Sansa sat up in bed and allowed the linens to drop to her waist. A shiver ran over her body and she stretched her arms above her head just as the door to his room opened.

“Jon!” Sansa cried as she covered her breasts.

He looked surprised to still see her there and quickly closed the door behind him.

“You’re still here?” He asked, bewildered.

“I slept in,” Sansa said as she gathered a linen around her and stepped from his bed. “I’m sorry.”

“No it’s...it’s fine,” Jon said as he took off his belt and leather armor.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked shocked as she watched him take off his tunic.

“I need to change,” Jon said as he walked bare chested toward his wardrobe.

“Oh, of course, I’ll...” Sansa said as she looked around for her nightdress.

“It’s on the chair,” Jon said as he gestured toward a stool in the corner.

“Thank...thank you,” Sansa said as she walked toward it and took the nightgown in her hand.

“Why?” Sansa asked as she passed him. It was a question that had been on her mind for weeks.

“Why what?” Jon asked with knitted brows.

“Uh,,,why do you need to change?” Sansa hedged, not asking the question she really had on her mind. 

“A few Lords have arrived and I have been sweat...” Jon stopped and looked at her frozen in place, the blush running up her body, the pained expression on her face. “What was the real question?”

Sansa’s face fell and she shifted her feet under the sheet she had wrapped around herself.

“Why after the Eyrie?” Sansa asked, finally looking into his eyes.

Jon sighed and took a few steps toward her. When he stood directly in front of her he finally spoke.

“Tyrion Lannister reminded me of something,” Jon said as he looked into her eyes, his shirt unbuttoned, his hands strong at his sides.

“What’s that?” Sansa inquired.

“Something you knew a long time before I did,” Jon said with a slight smirk. “Sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.”

Sansa nodded and turned to go dress in his second chamber. He caught her by the arm and she turned back to face him.

Jon held onto the sides of her face and bent her head to him, kissing her softly on the forehead before he stepped back and watched her go.


	2. Sitting A Throne 2

Jon walked down the hall towards Sansa’s room, his nightly visit on his mind. He never stayed, it was too awkward waking with her and he hated the look of disappointment on her face when they coupled so he always insisted on the dark. 

It had been months of this bedding with no babe in sight and he wondered if her plan had a serious complication. Maybe a man brought back from the dead couldn’t help create life? He wanted to talk with her about this worry, but when?

When he came to her at night they spoke no words and just got about the act. In the day, they pretended nothing had happened between them the night before; to bring it up suddenly would probably upset her.

But, he needed to do something. Lord Glover had again petitioned for her hand and his offer clearly indicated he was losing patience with his King. The Ulsters had also been trying to push one of their two daughters, Moira or Petra onto the King as a bride. One the the girls, Petra he thought, had even offered to warm his bed as a trial for compatibility. Jon had pretended he didn’t hear the offer.

After months of coupling with his cousin no one in the North was any the wiser of them, which was a good thing. If they were to stop this because he was right about being able to father a child, her reputation would stay in tact and she’d still make a good match. Sansa would go on to have babes with another Northern man. 

Jon was not normally a jealous man, but the thought of her with another man didn’t sit well with him. He chose to ignore those feelings most of the time, but tonight he allowed them to sit on his chest, heavy like a stone as he walked toward her door. 

When he opened it to go inside she was not sitting in her usual chair.

“Sansa?” He asked the empty room.

He walked farther in and saw no sign of her. Not next to the bed, not in the bed, not by the window. He walked toward her second room, where she dressed and bathed and found her sitting on the floor with something in her hands.

“Sansa?” Jon asked as he approached her. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said softly. “I lost track of time and...”

“You need to get off that floor before you catch your death,” Jon said as he held out a hand to help her stand. “Why are you down there?”

Sansa tucked the material she was holding into a basket and looked back at him not answering his question.

She walked past him into the other room. Jon stood looking after her for a moment before he followed her into her bedroom. He watched as she walked around the room blowing out candles and lamps; when she was done the only light in the room was the fire keeping it warm.

He watched as she started to remove her dress and then pulled himself out of his daze.

“Sansa, we need to talk,” Jon said as he walked toward her and took her hand, pulling her toward the bed where they both sat side by side.

“Talk?” Sansa asked, surprised.

“I think there’s a flaw in your plan,” Jon said as he folded his hands in his lap. “I am a man who shouldn’t be alive. I’ve been brought back from the other side and maybe...maybe someone who has died cannot help create life?”

Sansa looked at him perplexed.

“Maybe I’m missing that which is needed for life to spark,” Jon said thoughtfully.

“You have seed,” Sansa said as she knitted her brows together. “You have a lot of it. And we are completing the act each time...”

“I think there’s more to it then seed,” Jon said, uncomfortably.

“Well we don’t desire a child for the same reasons as most people,” Sansa said as she played with the folds of her dress. “Maybe the gods know that and...”

“The gods give babes to whores and witches and poor lasses who have been raped,” Jon scoffed. “The gods would not see the need to hold back a babe for a King and his Queen.”

Sansa sighed. There had to be more to it. Had she been so damaged by Ramsay that it was she who couldn’t have a babe?

“Have you bedded other women besides me?” Sansa asked boldly.

“When?” Jon scoffed. “You have me each night.”

“There are more hours in the day then night time Jon,” Sansa noted.

Jon sighed and looked at his hands. “I have not.”

“So it could be me and not you,” Sansa said softly. “I could be the broken piece.”

“You aren’t broken, Sansa,” Jon sighed heavily. 

“I may be,” Sansa sighed. 

“Maybe we should stop this endeavor,” Jon said as he met her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be with child by now? We’re young and healthy, and except for your cycle, you’ve been taken each night...”

Sansa nodded and thought of all the things her mother and other women had told her about baby making.

“Cersai Lannister...” 

“That would be who came to mind in this situation, wouldn’t it? The brother and sister who fucked,” Jon said as he stood abruptly from her bed.

“Hear me out!” Sansa yelled.

Jon looked at her surprised.

“She said that a woman’s body needs to be excited, heightened for the seed...that many a queen rely on other woman to get them to that place before the King plants his seed. It ensures a babe.”

Jon looked at her strangely.

“And do you know how this is accomplished?” Jon asked.

Sansa blushed. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, I do,” Jon said as he scratched his beard and appraised her. “And you wouldn’t like it.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t?” Sansa asked, offended. “If it accomplishes the task...”

“You once told me that Ramsay would just throw you over, take you, and walk away...that was all the experience you had,” Jon said.

Sansa’s blush deepened and she looked to her lap as she nodded.

“He never touched you in any other way? Did things to you with his hands or his mouth?” Jon asked, uncomfortable.

“Kissing? A couple of times he forced a kiss on me but...”

“No, kissing you in other places,” Jon said as he shifted his feet. For a woman who had been bedded by her husband for months and now him for months she was painfully naive. Sure Ramsay was a twisted man, and their coupling had been plain, but...

“On my skin?” Sansa asked.

“Breasts? Legs? Thighs? Ass? Your...spot?” Jon asked her as he felt his face redden.

“No,” Sansa said as her eyes widened.

“I knew you wouldn’t like...”

Sansa sat up straighter. “We should try.”

“Sansa, you don’t want me to...”

“What do I need to do?” Sansa asked as she stood and started to remove her dress again. “I won’t lose Winterfell or the North, Jon.”

Jon couldn’t believe she was seriously going to do this. For months he’d got through the act by taking her in the dark, plainly, he on top of her, no words, barely touching...and now she wanted him to do those things to her?

She dropped her dress and pulled her shift over her head, standing before him in nothing but her skin. He’d never seen that much of her naked. She was beautiful.

“Sansa, we don’t need to...” Jon started anew.

“What do I need to do?” Sansa asked clearly.

Jon sighed heavily and wiped at his mouth. He looked at her determined expression and nodded toward the bed. 

“Start by laying on your stomach in the middle of the bed,” Jon said as he took off his tunic and loosened his breaches, dropping them to the ground so he was in nothing more than his small clothes.

Sansa seemed confused but did as she was told. Jon faltered in his walk toward the bed; tonight was proving to be nothing like any other night. He wondered, absently, if he should have brought up the problem in her plan in the daylight hours instead...would they have come to this?

He knelt on the bed and looked down at her pale naked body. She was the most perfect female he’d ever seen.

He started by touching her back, slowly massaging her tense muscles. His work to relax her seemed to make her more tense and he found himself quietly asking her to just relax.

She loosened after that slightly but the back seemed like a lost cause. He moved to her ass and slowly ran his fingers along her cheeks, which proved to be a ticklish region for her as she squirmed and giggled below him.

Jon closed his eyes and tried to focus. What could he do to her that would ensure she relaxed?

Jon manouvered himself higher up and moved her hair to the side.

“What are you...?”

“Shhh,” he whispered before he started to plant kisses on her neck, then her shoulders, then he moved down her back, and kissed her pert ass cheeks before he worked his way down her thighs and to the backs of her knees. She sighed heavily with each new location and, when moved back up her body, he kissed the muscles in her back he felt they had loosened and softened.

Jon pulled at her shoulder and she rolled onto her back. Her eyes were wary of what he was about to do, but showed him she liked things so far.

“Trust me?” Jon asked softly.

Sansa nodded and said nothing. 

He lunged forward and sucked on her one breast situating himself between her open legs.

He felt her push her breast towards his mouth and couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Sansa squirmed beneath him as he lapped at her nipple and massaged the tissue with his hand.

“Oh gods,” Sansa moaned softly as he moved over to the other breast and started again.

“Jon,” she sighed as he worked her nipples and moved a hand lower to her spot. He slowly inserted a finger into her and she squeaked. 

He chuckled against her and looked up at her face.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as he looked at her flushed face.

“Uh...uh huh,” Sansa panted.

Jon left her breast and slowly lowered himself to where his finger was warming her up. He kissed her spot and she jumped.

“Just don’t break my nose,” Jon warned her as he went back to her spot. He licked her lower lips and she almost bucked into his face.

“Sansa,” Jon warned as he pulled back slightly and looked up at her.

“Sorry,” Sansa huffed. “Sorry...sorry.”

Jon went back to work on her spot and she managed to stay relatively still after that. She squirmed below him but didn’t try and launch the two of them off the bed any longer. 

When she was moaning and grasping the linens below him, Jon entered her. Sansa screamed his name and her spot tightened all around his cock before she fell back on the bed with tears draining from the corners of her eyes. She was mumbling incoherently as he emptied himself inside her wet opening. 

Jon huffed and panted as his seed spilled inside her wanton womb. Real coupling with Sansa, not the obligatory coupling they had been adhering to, was beautiful.

After his heart calmed and he got his breath back, he kissed her on the lips and rose from the bed walking around the room looking for his clothes and pulling them on haphazardly; it was jsut a short walk down the hallway, he didn’t need to do everything up.

Jon made it as far as the door before she called out his name.

“Jon!” Sansa called as she wrapped the linen around her and ran toward him.

“Sansa?” Jon asked as he turned to see her smiling face.

She hugged him about the neck and he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

When she let go, so did he. He smiled at her and stepped out into the hallway. Just as he was about the close the door behind him, he saw the face of Tyrion Lannister across the hallway, also coming from a doorway. 

“Jon?” Tyrion asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought that was your name I heard.”

Jon and Sansa stood slack-jawed looking at him.

“Good evening, Sansa,” Tyrion said as he looked beyond Jon at the woman wrapped in a linen. “Feeling well are you?”

Jon stepped protectively in front of Sansa and gave a dark look to the man.

“Why are you here?” Jon asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ser Davos invited me to stay,” Tyrion said. “I’m on my way to Castle Black.”

“I did know you were expected,” Jon said menacingly. “But why are you...here?”

“Oh, the room?” Tyrion asked. “I asked for the same one I stayed in the first time I came to Winterfell. It had good reading light. I had no idea it also came with a show.”

Jon took a step toward Tyrion and Sansa grabbed his arm to stop him. 

“I take it this...arrangement is not common knowledge?” Tyrion asked.

“As the King of the North I order you to keep this information to yourself,” Jon said as he pulled away from Sansa. “No one else knows and if word gets out, I’ll know the source and Lord...Lannister...I could care less who you are, you will meet the gods.”

Tyrion visibly swallowed and straightened his shoulders. 

“I am merely going for a cup of tea,” Tyrion said as he nodded toward Jon. “I’ve heard and seen nothing.”

Jon nodded and watched the man leave. Once they were alone, he turned to Sansa and she looked at him worried.

“Do you think...?”

“He knows exactly what happened in your room,” Jon said as he rubbed his beard. “But he’ll keep it to himself...for now.”

Sansa nodded. 

“As long as he’s here, you come to me,” Jon said.

Sansa nodded in agreement and he kissed her softly on the cheek before he walked back toward his room and left her to sleep.


	3. 3

“The Starks need heirs,” Lord Glover said with a sour expression. “If there is always to be a Stark in Winterfell you need to start making Starks.”

All eyes turned to look at Sansa and she met them with an unflinching gaze.

“Perhaps you are not aware of the circumstances of my marriage to Ramsay Bolton,” Sansa began.

“Sansa...” Jon hissed, he didn’t want her sharing what little private information she had with others to prove a point.

Sansa felt the eyes of Tyrion Lannister on them. He was supposed to just stop at Winterfell for a few days; his visit had now stretched to two weeks with no end in sight. He was enjoying watching them, and letting the odd snide comment that they could only know the meaning of, drop.

“I’m aware he’s a pervert,” Lord Glover said unabashedly. “But know that my son would treat you with kindness and would never raise a hand to you, would you?”

“Lord Glover, he was more than a pervert,” Tyrion Lannister spoke up. “The relationship between my brother and his twin sister could be considered perverted. Ramsay Bolton was far worse, he was a sick bastard. No offense.”

All eyes shifted to Jon who nodded toward Tyrion. He’d mentioned his siblings sleeping together quite a lot since that night and each time felt like a small stab in Jon’s gut.

“I don’t doubt that,” Sansa said, turning the subject away from Cersai and Jamie Lannister. “But you must understand that I am not ready to take a husband at this time.”

“Then when?!” Lord Glover snapped. “You aren’t getting any younger each day that passes...”

“That’s enough!” Jon yelled as he stood from his place. “You will apologize to Lady Stark for your unkind words!”

“I do apologize Lady Stark,” Lord Glover said honestly.

“Apology accepted,” Sansa nodded toward the man.

“How about we break for lunch and then move on to a discussion of the Neck,” Ser Davos offered.

There were Northern grunts around the table and most men rose to go get some of the food that was being laid out in the Great Hall. Sansa gathered the papers and placed them in a few near piles before walking to join the others.

“You won’t be able to hold them off forever,” Tyrion whispered as he leaned in to Sansa. “And eventually more people will know.”

“If you keep dropping comments about your siblings...” Sansa started.

“It’s all just in fun,” Tyrion whispered. “I don’t really care that you are fucking your former brother.”

“Shhh!” Sansa censured. 

“No one is about Lady Stark,” Tyrion said as if proving his point with a wave of his hand. It was true, no one was left in the room but the two of them.

“I don’t care if we’re in the middle of a lake,” Sansa said with a hiss.

“Fine,” Tyrion groaned. “Although I have missed hearing the passionate cries...he’s a one trick pony?”

“Have a lovely lunch, Tyrion,” Sansa sighed as she headed toward the door.

“Switched locations?” Tyrion called after her.

Sansa swiveled on her heel and gave him a dark look. 

“So, his rooms,” Tyrion smiled at her as he walked companionably next to her.

“How much longer will you be staying with us?” Sansa asked as she changed the subject.

“Long enough to see how this plays out,” Tyrion smiled at her. “I wouldn’t miss this for the bloody Wall.”

Sansa sighed heavily and walked into the Great Hall. She sat next to Jon and started to eat what was placed in front of her.

“You were talking with Tyrion?” Jon asked her candidly.

“Yes,” Sansa groaned.

“Has he given you a departure date?” Jon asked.

“I think Lord Lannister will be staying with us for some time,” Sansa sighed.

Jon groaned next to her.

They ate in silence for a long time and, at the end of the meal, found themselves without anyone around them for a few minutes.

“Still nothing,” Sansa whispered.

“That’s good, right?”

“It is,” Sansa smiled at him. “Although it could mean nothing.”

“Or it could mean something,” Jon clarified.

Sansa was supposed to get her cycle days ago, and nothing had come. She was hopeful that it meant a babe in her belly, as was Jon. It would mean the end of this farce. They could finally get married, and all would be settled.

“Tonight?” Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I think we should,” Sansa said with a small smile.

“Could it...could it hurt...?”

“No,” Sansa nodded in the negative, although she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Ok,” Jon nodded before he rose from his chair and went back to the men who were now gathering again.

The truth was, since they had changed their approach to baby making, Sansa and Jon had looked forward to their nights together. They were passionate and exploratory nights filled with moans and cries...not longer the quiet nights of quickly fucking. She had stayed in his rooms a few times and woken up in his arms each morning. The awkwardness seemed to be gone and they had come to accept each other as a partner, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

Sansa walked back to the men gathered and hoped that they would have news to share quite soon.


	4. 4

“This can’t be good for you,” Jon said as he handed Sansa a linen to wipe her mouth after she had vomited into a bowl.

Sansa had been throwing up each morning for weeks and was completely sure now that she was with child.

“It means the child has embedded itself into my womb,” Sansa said as she looked toward him.

He was standing next to her naked as the day he was born with a worried expression on his face. They hadn’t had sex for a week but each night he’d asked if she was coming to his room and each night she had. She slept in her small clothes entwined around his naked body with his hand cupping her breast or her ass cheek. 

“Maybe it’s time to see the Maester,” Jon suggested.

“He’ll tell everyone,” Sansa said worried as she stood with his assistance. “Are you ready for that?”

“Are you?” Jon asked as they walked back toward the bed.

“In a way, it’s good Tyrion is still here,” Sansa said as she sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Jon sat down next to her and started to rub her back softly; he knew she liked it and it made her feel better.

“Why exactly is that?” Jon asked.

“He’ll be able to confirm that you are the father,” Sansa said over her shoulder.

“I guess that’s the only benefit of having him drop snide comments for so long,” Jon sighed.

Sansa rolled down onto the bed and curled her knees up toward her chest.

“Do you want some tea?” Jon asked as he looked down at her sour expression.

“Please don’t mention any food or drink,” Sansa murmured. 

“Sorry,” Jon sighed as he laid a hand on her hip.

“And your hand’s sweaty,” Sansa said quietly. 

Jon lifted his hand away and carefully crawled back under the covers. He knew not to disturb the bed, to not touch her when she was bothered by him, to not eat around her...the list was growing daily.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa sighed about five minutes later.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon said with a yawn. “I hate when my stomach is upset.”

“I need to see if the Maester can help,” Sansa murmured. 

“So I can call him?” Jon asked, making sure she was certain.

“Yes, call him,” Sansa nodded.

Jon carefully rose from his bed and, throwing on some breaches walked from his room and down the stairs to find a guard. Several minutes later he returned and discovered Sansa in the same position he left her. At least she hadn’t vomited again.

“I’ve sent for him,” Jon said as he approached her. “I brought you some water.”

“So this is it,” Sansa said as she looked at him with a worried expression.

“It’ll be just fine,” Jon said as he sat down next to her and caged her body between his hip and his arm.

They sat in companionable silence for a long time while she tried to settle her stomach and he worried.

“Hopefully I can get through the wedding without losing my lunch,” Sansa said.

“Is it always like this?” Jon inquired. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa admitted. “Mother wasn’t ever sick with anyone but Bran and...”

Just then there was a knock on the door to Jon’s room.

“Who is it?” Jon called.

“Maester Netts,” the voice on the other side called out.

Jon looked at Sansa and she nodded; he was allowed inside.

“Come in,” Jon called.

The Maester walked inside and toward Jon before he noticed who was laying down next to him.

“Oh, my Lady, I’m sorr...”

“It’s for Sansa,” Jon said as he stood from his spot and shook the Maester’s hand.

“Lady Stark?” The Maester asked.

“She’s with child,” Jon said quietly. “She’s been sick each morning and...”

“She’s not married,” the Maester said, recoiling slightly.

“No, she’s not,” Jon said softly.

“Then she can’t be with...”

“It’s my child,” Jon said standing protectively in front of Sansa to face the Maester.

“Oh, I...I understand,” the Maester nodded before he approached Sansa.

“I’m glad you do,” Jon nodded before he moved aside and allowed the Maester to examine Sansa.


	5. Chapter 5

“This is preposterous!” Lord Ulster yelled as he banged his fist against his table. “She has opened her legs for a man, and the King is merely...”

“Do not talk about Sansa that way!” Jon said through gritted teeth.

“The Maester said he claimed...” Lord Umber began.

“The Maester only said that he claims...” 

“I do claim the child as mine!” Jon said as he stood from his seat and threw his chair back harshly against the wall behind him.

“You claim the child...see his language!” Lord Ulster noted.

“The child is mine!” Jon said vehemently. “I put the babe inside her!”

“My Lords!” Ser Davos said as he stood next to Jon. “The King...”

“Needs a proper wife! Not some whore who...” Lord Umber started.

His words were cut short by Jon pushing past two surprised Lords to grab Lord Umber by the collar and throttle him.

“Everyone stop!” Tormund said as he threw over the table he sat at. “He’s the fucking King!”

Jon pushed away Lord Umber and stepped back. He was breathing heavily and his face was hot from his boiling blood.

“Everyone have a seat,” Tyrion called as he stood on his chair. “I have some information that may enlighten this discussion.”

All the Lords sat except for Jon. 

“The next man that calls Sansa a whore or questions her in any capacity, will have my sword run through him,” Jon warned as he gave the group a dark look.

He then pulled his chair back to the table and sat down heavily in it.

“The King claims the child as his,” Tyrion said once the group was silent. “He says the child that Sansa Stark carries IS his.”

“We know all this,” Lord McCue pointed out.

“What I am clarifying, for the feeble minded, is that the King can claim any child as his. That his claims are correct, and that if the King says the child in Sansa Stark IS his...then it is. If he said the child in your wife, Lord Umber, is his, then it is.”

“He’s never met my wife!” Lord Umber said hotly.

“No, but if he claims her child is his, then that child is the Kings, because he is the King,” Tyrion pointed out.

Grumbles broke out around the hall; everyone still wasn’t happy.

“And I know something that none of you at this meeting do,” Tyrion continued. “I know that they have been bedding, I can confirm that they have been bedding at least as long as I have been at Winterfell, likely longer.”

Gasps broke out around the table.

“Were you in the room watching?!” Lord McCue asked, startled.

“No, but I was in the room across the hall from Sansa Stark’s room and I do know what bedding sounds like,” Tyrion explained. “And I also know the guilty expression of two people who don’t want to be caught, but are.”

All eyes went to Jon and he met their gaze unflinchingly. He knew Tyrion would eventually speak up and he knew what would be told.

“You have been bedding your sister?” Lord Ulster asked, surprised.

“She’s my cousin,” Jon clarified, angered. “And, as I told you earlier, the child is mine. He or she will be my heir. Sansa told you we thought we should marry, but no one wanted that. Now, we will marry and you’ll have to live with it.”

“This is outrageous!” Lord Ulster claimed.

“No, this is how it will be,” Jon said calmly as he laced his fingers before him. He was grateful he’d convinced Sansa not to come to this meeting, because he sensed some of the more colorful phrases that would be used for her involvement. “We marry today, in the Godswood. You are all invited and I expect to see you there supporting your King.”

Jon rose from his chair and left the hall to the grumbling of his lords and the surprised looks from Ser Davos and Tormond. He would speak with them both candidly later today, but for now, he needed to get as far away from those men as possible. He felt Sansa might not be the only one who lost her breakfast this morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa walked into the Godswood looking pale and slightly green. She was wearing her best blue dress and trying to look happy. In truth, her stomach was rolling, her head was pounding and her spirits diminished. She knew the Lords would object at first...but the vehemence of their issue with this marriage astounded her. She felt like she was walking into a snake pit.

Jon stood by the weirwood tree talking with Ser Davos and Edd, his back to her, not noticing that she had entered just yet. People were milling about, talking with one another, also not noticing her arrival.

“The bride!” a deep woman’s voice yelled and Sansa turned to see Brienne looking at the crowd in warning.

She smiled at Brienne, grateful for her help, and as she faced forward again, Jon turned to see her and straightened himself into a more formal stance. Ser Davos and Eddd took a few steps away from him and she took a step forward before being halted by someone’s hand on her wrist.

“Might I?” Tyrion asked as he looked up at her.

Sansa smiled down at him grateful. As much as he had teased and made them anxious since his arrival at Winterfell, his support was heartwarming in a sea of tight grimaces.

She and Tyrion walked forward together and Sansa was grateful for him at her side for Jon was not smiling at the weirwood and looked deep in thought.

“Who brings this woman to be wed?” Lord Mormont asked.

“I bring Sansa, grown and flowered, ready to take a husband,” Tyrion said loudly.

Sansa heard a few snickers and a comment about being bloomed not flowered. Jon seemed to be so pensive that he didn’t hear for there was no reaction from him.

“Who takes this woman as his wife?” Lord Mormont asked.

“I do, Jon Targaryen of House Targaryen,” Jon said flatly.

Sansa looked at him with knitted brows. Something was wrong; Jon was never good at hiding anything.

Sansa looked around the godswood and noticed some Lords were missing. Before she could take account of exactly who, Lord Mormont spoke again.

“Do you take this man, joining with House Targaryen?” Lord Mormont asked her.

“I do,” Sansa said, her voice unsteady as she thought of what this could mean for them, for the North.

Jon stepped forward and draped his Targaryen cloak over her shoulders. It smelled of sweat and ale and it overwhelmed her delicate nostrils. Before he could tie it, Sansa ran toward a nearby cranberry bush and lost her stomach.

There were some chuckles in the audience, some gasps, and some cries of concern until a large deep male voice that could only belong to Tormond told everyone to ‘shut the fuck up’.

Jon was at her back rubbing it as she heaved a second time into the poor bush.

“Sansa...” he said softly as he rubbed circles on her back. It was the first sign in this horrible ceremony that he was still her Jon.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa cried as tears ran down her inflamed and embarrassed cheeks.

“It’s fine,” Jon said softly. “Whenever you are ready we’ll continue.”

“How many?” Sansa whispered.

She felt the circles stop and his body tense beside hers.

“Two,” he said quietly.

“Oh gods,” Sansa said softly as she felt her stomach lurch again. This time only bile came and she was grateful for it. 

“We’ll be fine,” Jon said softly, although his voice betrayed him.

“Will we?” Sansa asked as he straightened slightly and Jon handed her a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her mouth.

He didn’t respond with words of encouragement, but merely kissed her on the cheek before he walked her back before the weirwood.

He picked his cloak off the ground, tied it around her neck and looked toward Lord Mormont.

“You are wed,” Lord Mormont said solemnly.

Jon leaned forward and kissed her chastely on her sour mouth. There was some clapping, some talking and many people who exited the godswood swiftly; their duty to attend done.

Sansa looked toward Jon wide-eyed. “What have we done?”


End file.
